ระบบห้ามฆ่าตัวตายบังคับให้เป็นอาจารย์ของตัวร้าย

The interrogation room smelled like bleach and fear.

Ava Carter stared at her hands. They were cuffed to the table. They were shaking. There was blood under her nails — her father's blood.

"He was already dead when you found him?" Detective Ryan asked.

"Yes," Ava whispered. "I told you. I came home and he was — he was on the floor."

"And the $20 million your father stole? Where is it?"

"I don't know anything about any money!"

The door slammed open.

Ava didn't look up. She couldn't. Until she heard his voice.

"She's done answering questions."

The room went silent.

Ava slowly lifted her head.

And her breath stopped.

He stood in the doorway like he owned the police station. Black suit. White shirt open at the throat. Tie loose. Dark hair slightly wet from the rain outside. And eyes — grey, cold, terrifyingly beautiful eyes that were looking straight at her.

Kieran Moretti.

Even she knew that name. Everyone in Manhattan knew that name. The Moretti family owned half the city. Clubs, hotels, the docks. And the other half they owned in blood.

"Mr. Moretti, this is a police interrogation — you can't —" the detective started.

"I can," Kieran said, his voice low and calm. Dangerous calm. "And I am. This woman is under my protection. Uncuff her."

"This woman is a murder suspect!"

"She was framed." Kieran's eyes never left Ava. "And you know it."

Ava's heart was beating so loud she thought it would burst. "I don't — I don't know you."

A small, cold smile touched his lips. "You don't remember me, Ava?"

He walked closer. Every step was slow, deliberate. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. He smelled like rain and expensive cologne and danger.

He leaned forward. Close enough that she could see the faint tattoo peeking from under his shirt collar. A rose. Black.

"Your father worked for me," he said quietly, so only she could hear. "He stole twenty million dollars from me, Ava. And then someone killed him for it. And they made it look like you did it."

Tears finally fell. "I didn't kill him."

"I know." He reached out — his hand, large, tattooed with intricate black roses, covered hers. His skin was warm. "That's why I'm here."

The detective cleared his throat. "Mr. Moretti, we have evidence —"

"You have nothing," Kieran cut him, not looking away from Ava. "The security footage is fake. The fingerprints were planted. You have a twenty-one-year-old girl with no record, no motive, and blood on her hands because she tried to save her father's life. Release her."

"We can't —"

"You will." Kieran stood, pulling Ava up with him. The handcuffs fell — someone had unlocked them. "Because if she spends one more night in this cell, I will buy this building and burn it down with all of you inside it."

No one moved.

Ava stared at him, trembling. "Why are you helping me?"

He looked down at her. Really looked at her. At her wet hair, her ruined black dress, her terrified eyes.

"Because you belong to me now," he said.

"What?"

He pulled a folded black paper from his inside pocket and placed it on the table. A contract.

"Marry me," he said. "Tonight. You become Mrs. Moretti. My wife. My name protects you. No police, no killer, no one will touch you. Or..."

He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her ear.

"Or you stay here. And they will put you in prison for a murder you didn't commit. And you will die in there, Ava. Beautiful girls like you don't last long inside."

Ava looked at the contract. At him. At the door.

"Marry you or die?" she whispered.

"Exactly." His grey eyes were dark. Possessive. "So what's your answer, sweetheart?"

Outside, thunder cracked. The rain hit the windows hard.

Ava picked up the pen with a shaking hand.

And signed.

Kieran Moretti smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had just won his favorite possession.

"Mine," he whispered, and pulled her into his chest.

And for the first time since her father died, Ava felt safe. And terrified. At the same time.